


Proof

by PepperF



Series: Prove Me Wrong [3]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-07 12:31:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7715050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five fantasies that Annie had about her reunion with Jeff, and what really happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The one where Annie comes home

**Author's Note:**

> Companion fic / sequel to Prove Me Wrong. Nb. Annie's brain is a much happier place.
> 
> Thanks SO MUCH to Bethany for editing and good ideas and sticking with me through this, and regularly poking me to ensure it hasn't entirely died!

_She briefly entertains the fantasy that he'll meet her at the airport and sweep her off her feet with some grand, romantic gesture, but somehow she can't hold on to that vision, it just doesn't seem real. Instead, she tries to picture what it might be like if it goes a little less perfectly—a little more 'them'. Somehow, that's actually better._

\---

Jeff meets her at the airport with a single red rose. This would be more romantic if he didn't thrust it at her like a small boy with strict instructions on how to greet a distant relative. Annie giggles. His expression cycles through mildly offended, embarrassed, and resigned, finally settling on sheepish.

"Romantic gestures by committee," he explains. 

Annie winces. "Oh god. Tell me the dean wasn't involved."

Jeff's face says it all, which means that, if he follows orders, she's probably doomed to some kind of carriage ride, song and dance number, or carnival proposal.

God, she's missed Greendale _so much_! Nothing like this happened during her ten-week stint with the FBI. It was all normal, straightforward—complicated and challenging, sure, and exciting, and professional, and so many things that she'd longed to experience—but never _weird_. Listening to her fellow interns talk about their schools and their home lives, she started to wonder if there was something wrong with her, if she was in fact no longer suitable for a life in the real world. Has Greendale twisted her so much that she'll never really belong anywhere else?

Now, standing before Jeff, she wonders that again—but this time with an undercurrent of _home, I'm finally home_. So what if her fellow interns thought she was a little peculiar? That was them failing her standards. And while they probably all have their own private dramas and homecomings and loved ones they've missed, she almost pities them, because they can't possibly have anything that's as good as this.

Annie takes the rose, and they shuffle awkwardly for a moment before Jeff rolls his eyes, kisses her cheek, and takes the handle of her suitcase. They fall into step, and Annie buries her sudden shyness by sniffing at the flower—and okay, it's cheesy and clichéd, but a little bit of her is totally swooning anyway, because _Jeff bought her a rose_.

"So," she says. "By committee, huh?"

He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. "Well. I kind of had to give Britta a heads-up, and I wanted to mine Abed for ideas, and then... it just kind of snowballed. There was a video conference," he says, in tones of horror.

Six years ago, she would have been offended at the interference in her private life, but she's long since become used to the group's strange, co-dependent, synergistic relationship, to the point where she can't even pretend to be surprised any more. "Do I get a say?" she asks.

Jeff gives her another look. "Of course. This isn't... I just thought it'd be..." He huffs. "It's not mandatory to date me," he says gruffly, like he's forcing the words out. "If that's not what you want."

Annie gives him a quick, reassuring smile, and tucks her arm through his, charmed by this sudden uncertainty. There was a time when Jeff Winger would never have been flustered by little Annie Edison, and she has no idea when that changed—but she wants to hear all about it someday, from Jeff's perspective, now that they're on the same page at last. "I know. I didn't mean that. I'm just more concerned about the execution, when Britta and Abed and the _dean_ have been involved in the planning."

Jeff's grin is a little relieved, a little teasing. "And Chang."

"Oh god, really? Why?"

"Hey, don't knock it till you've heard where I'm taking you for dinner."

Annie groans, but a deep feeling of contentment is filling her soul. "Okay, if we're going to do this, we really have to make our own decisions, in the future," she tells him. "I'm not having my love life run by committee. And I know you're not incapable of coming up with ideas, Jeff."

"Oh, I have plenty of _ideas_ ," he says, giving her a look that makes her blush. "I just thought we ought to start slower than that."

All at once, it hits her, and in the middle of the airport, she comes to a sudden stop. Jeff stops too, and turns to face her, letting the case roll itself upright.

People walk around them as she looks up at him, and behind the worry and the confusion and the shiny, cynical shell, she can see it: the truth of how he feels about her. Certainty. Faith. Love. It feels like she's seeing him anew, like she hasn’t really looked at him, not _really_ , in years.

"Annie?"

"Jeff," she says, and she can feel that she's beaming at him, hear the tears in her voice, but she can't help it, she just loves him _so damn much_ that she feels like she's bursting at the seams with it. "I really need you to kiss me right now, okay?"

He still looks confused, but he doesn't hesitate. He steps forwards and strokes a hand over her hair, and she tilts her chin up as he moves towards her. In the moment before his lips find hers, he smiles, and whispers, "Milady." 

Annie closes her eyes, feeling like she can let go, knowing she'll be safe.

She's home.


	2. The one where they'll always be there for each other, no matter what

_They talk all the time while she's away. She doesn't know if it's because of his confession in the study room, or just the distance making things easier, but the weird tension she's felt between them all year has suddenly disappeared. There are still things unspoken (she still hasn't told him how she feels—and he never actually said the words), and conversations they need to have, but they've mutually, silently agreed to hit 'pause' on all that until she returns. And it does feel like a pause, rather than their usual tactic of burying it all and denying everything. She senses that they're both ready to talk, at long last, and although she learned long ago not to jump to conclusions where Jeff is concerned, she can't help feeling optimistic about the outcome._

_That all said, she's also a little impatient. Waiting doesn't come naturally to her, especially when it feels like everything else in her life is hitting the accelerator. She has this crazy vision of how she wants to pull him up behind her, rev the engine, and go._

\---

Partway through her internship, she's offered an amazing, unexpected opportunity. There's absolutely no way she's going to turn it down—so she starts planning. When she's got everything ready, she sets up a FaceTime with Jeff.

"Agent E!" He's taken to calling her that. It's kind of adorable.

"Hi, Jeff." She grins broadly, hardly able to contain herself. She's nervous, but so very excited. It could all go horribly wrong—but then it could all go great. She has to take a chance.

Jeff seems to sense that something's going on with her, because his eyes narrow. He's still wearing a smile, though. "So, what's new? Have you caught the Zodiac Killer yet? Tracked down Jimmy Hoffa?"

"Sorry, not yet." It's exciting to think that she might yet get the opportunity, though. It bolsters her courage, and she sits up straight. "Jeff, I need to talk to you about something."

His face goes cautiously blank. "Okay. Shoot."

She can't keep it in any longer. "I've been offered a research position, when I finish my internship! I'm going to work for the FBI!"

His eyes widen. "Oh my god, Annie, that's amazing," he says—and he sounds sincere. "That's great news! You'll be heading up taskforces and tracking down serial killers in no time. If you can fix Greendale, you can do anything." He smiles warmly. "I always knew you'd go far. I'm still holding out for an invitation to dinner at the White House."

" _Jeff_ ," she says, ducking her head and blushing with pleasure. This last year, she hasn’t been as certain of his belief in her—he's been distant, holding back, as though he couldn’t quite trust her anymore. And then there was Frankie, almost-sorta-kinda taking her place as the person who'd whip Greendale into shape. (Not that she was jealous! She was just... okay, she was a little bit jealous, much though she likes and admires Frankie.) But now it's as though all that never happened, and his faith in her is as strong as it's ever been. "Anyway, that wasn't what I wanted to talk to you about."

"What, you _don't_ want to talk about your burgeoning FBI career?" He laughs, as though he thinks she's joking. "C'mon, Annie, you can tell me all about it, I won't get bored, I swear."

"No—well, of course I do—but in a second. Jeff, this is important." She leans forward. "I want you to come with me."

"Edison and Winger, fighting crime?" He grins. "I can see it now. I'll crack wise, and look good in a suit—no, we'll both look good in suits. And we could get Frankie to be the boss who always yells—"

"No," she says impatiently. "I want you to move to Washington. With me."

At last he gets that she's serious. His face… well, she has a sudden flashback to that time she slammed his head into the table. "Annie…"

"I'm not asking you to make a decision right now—and I'm not expecting you to say 'yes'," she says. "It's completely up to you, no pressure. And I know we haven’t talked about… _anything_ yet. But I just wanted to—look, I was going to have to tell the group soon, and I wanted to be excited for it, and…"

"And you don't want me to be a buzzkill," he says, his mouth pulling up into a smile that his eyes don't echo. "It's okay, Annie, you don't have to—"

" _No,_ " she says, forcefully. "It's not that. I just—I wanted you to have that excitement too. You know? I want you to be thrilled at where your life is going, instead of feeling like you're stuck in a dead-end job—which you're not, by the way. And if you want to stay at Greendale and work on becoming the amazing teacher I know you could be, I'll be fully supportive of that, too—I've got some ideas for your course next semester that I want to talk to you about later. But if that's not what you want, then maybe you could think about making a fresh start in Washington. I've already found a dozen jobs you could apply for, and I've only just started looking. You could teach, you could become a lawyer again—or there's lots of other things you could try. I want to help you find your dream job." She sits back, trying to look and sound more confident than she feels. "And if you want to be with me… well, I'm tired of pretending that's not what I want. So I'm putting it out there. And you can think about it, take as long as you—"

"Yes."

It's her turn to be stunned. Her voice stutters to a halt. He's staring into the camera with his eyes wide and serious.

"J-Jeff, you don't have to decide now—"

"I know. But I've decided. Yes. I want to come with you. Leave…" His voice trails off. "Leave Greendale," he says, hoarsely. He's leaning forward, his shoulders hunched, as if he's tensed for a blow.

"You mean it?" she whispers. "Even though… Jeff, have you even thought about it? What am I saying—you _haven't_ thought about it!"

"Not this specifically, no, but I've been thinking about leaving this job since the day I started," he says. "I tried, I really did, but if there's any other options out there… I'm scared this place is going to kill me, Annie. Either I'll finally manage to drink myself to death, or half a ton of Frisbees will land on my head, and boom, that'll be it."

She nods, unable to speak. She's felt that same terror about what might happen to him if she's not there. If she's honest, some of that is probably what's driving this offer. But she's thought it through, and discussed it with Abed—the only one who already knows—and while that is a factor, it isn't the main one. She really, truly, wants to share this adventure with him, because it would make her excitement a thousand times richer, and take away some of the fear she's feeling on her own behalf, too.

Maybe Frankie has the tiniest smidgen of a point about the codependence thing.

"Don't get me wrong, I really want to be with you, too." He smiles self-consciously. "That's… that would be…" He sighs heavily. "We should talk about that in person."

"In person," she agrees, hurriedly. Because she has plans, if that conversation goes well, and they kind of hinge on him being within reach.

He nods. His smile is shaky, but genuine. "Honestly, I'm probably underselling how much of my heart—code or not—is making this decision."

"Jeff, if you're not sure..."

"No. I am sure. I want to get out of here. And if we don't... if nothing happens between us, or whatever, if all I'm doing is moving halfway across the country with a friend, I still wouldn't regret it."

It feels like the tense and breathless moment as the airplane taxis along the runway, picking up speed. "Yeah?"

He nods slowly, letting out a long breath. She's given him a lot to think about, she can tell. "So... D.C., huh?"

She smiles tremulously, scared, relieved, and excited, as the beginnings of a thousand plans begin to uncurl in her mind. "D.C.," she confirms.


	3. The one where not everything goes according to plan and that's okay

_She invites him to D.C. during her internship, and it breaks her heart a little when he says he can't come. But he's agreed to teach some summer school classes, and she knows he needs the money, and that it's the sensible thing, because she's only going to be away for ten weeks, and they've been apart for longer than that before... but oh, she wishes she'd gotten to him before the dean. Judging by the look in his eyes, she knows he would have said 'yes'. And away from Greendale, away from all that history and the eyes of their friends, maybe things would finally get moving. Lying alone in bed in her tiny apartment, she can't help but picture him beside her..._

\---

She doesn't have a car in D.C., so although she wants to meet him at the airport like some romantic movie, she agrees that it makes more sense for him to make his own way into town. She gets out of work on time, for once, and meets him at the metro station in the middle of the afternoon rush.

And really, she's expecting to be a bundle of nerves, but somehow, all she feels is confidence. She has a solid plan, and although this is one situation she hasn't roleplayed with Abed (who was incredibly helpful when it came to practicing for her FBI interview), she's pretty sure she knows Jeff well enough to guess how this will go.

Okay, when she finally spots him, her heart does give a lurch, but that's because she's so incredibly excited to see him again, after five long weeks away from home. And yes, it's possible she elbowed a nun out of the way as she made her way towards him, but... five weeks. Five weeks since they said goodbye at the airport; nearly six weeks since their kiss in the study room. Of course she's impatient.

"Hi," he says, when they're finally within reach.

She opens her arms wide, and he steps forward, reaching for her but not. His hands come to rest lightly on her waist as he leans in to kiss her cheek, and he's warm and solid but so, so tentative. She pays no attention to this display of nervousness, because god, she's missed him _so much_ , and she wraps him in a fierce hug, pressing her cheek to his chest and breathing in, eyes closed. He curls forward gradually, stubble catching in her hair, and Annie sighs in nearly overwhelming relief. Like the slow but unstoppable drift of a glacier, he's moving closer, fingers inching further towards her back—until he reaches tipping point and suddenly he's wrapped around her so tightly that she couldn't move if she wanted to, enfolding her completely in the satisfying way that only Jeff's hugs quite manage.

She can feel his heartbeat, strong and rapid, close to her ear, and presses closer.

A long time later—but not nearly long enough—she twitches involuntarily because she's now so relaxed that she's almost asleep on her feet. Jeff releases her immediately, which was emphatically not what she wanted, but they're still in the middle of the station concourse so it's probably for the best. He gives her a sheepish grin, and he might actually be blushing slightly. It's too adorable for words.

"Mi—" He has to clear his throat and start again. "Miss me?"

"Of course," she tells him, and his face relaxes.

"I missed you, too," he says, low and sincere and just a tad anxious.

She feels her pulse pick up deliciously, and she beams at him, utterly unable to control it. "Come on, let me take you home."

They take the bus back to her apartment, and spend most of the journey sitting in rush hour traffic—but she doesn't care because she's with Jeff, and they could have construction and traffic jams and red lights the whole way, and she still wouldn't mind. At her stop, she thanks the driver with what is probably an excessively happy smile, and Jeff smirks like he's terribly amused by the whole thing, but he hasn’t stopped looking at her so she doesn't care. 

Her drab little neighborhood looks new and brighter, and her apartment building stands tall and proud and strong in the sun, and not looming and dark and dingy like usual. Jeff hefts his suitcase under his arm, and they climb the two floors to her door, because she's been trapped in that elevator once already and she's not about to risk that with him (although in retrospect it wasn't so bad, and Jeff looks suitably jealous when she tells him about being rescued by firemen).

She gives him the grand tour from the doorway: "This is the living room, and that’s the kitchenette. The bathroom is through that door, and the bedroom is through that one."

"Spacious," says Jeff, wrinkling his nose. "You FBI interns really know how to live the high life." 

She sticks her tongue out at him. "You're taking the bed," she says, brooking no arguments. "I need you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed if we're going to complete the sight-seeing itinerary I have planned."

Jeff groans. "I should've known it was a trap. Please tell me we're not seeing _all_ the monuments."

She doesn't dignify this with an answer. "Anyway, I'll be fine on the couch, it's a pullout." She glances slyly at him, just in time to catch the disappointed expression he quickly hides. That's good. She can work with that.

"Fine," he grumbles. "So what are we doing tonight? I'm assuming you've planned everything to the nth degree."

She has, of course, but she says casually, "I thought we could just grab some dinner, and spend some time catching up."

Jeff nods. "Okay, sounds good. Where are we going?"

She shrugs, and looks around, as if she's just coming up with this idea and hadn't turned it over and over in her head a million times since he first said he'd booked a flight. "Well, I've found a great Lebanese place around the corner that delivers." She meets his gaze. "I thought we could just stay in. If that's okay with you?"

He stares at her for a long time, and then swallows hard. "Yeah. That sounds good."

So she hands him the take-out menu and dials the restaurant, placing her usual order (she's not going to tell Abed, but the falafel is even better than his dad's) plus some additions Jeff calls out. They end up with far too much, but that's okay because they can have it for lunch tomorrow—maybe a picnic on the Mall. They spread the meal out on her little table, Annie grabs a couple of beers from the fridge, and they settle in, side-by-side on the couch. The food is good, and the company is better, and suddenly her tiny apartment with its inadequate A/C and ratty hand-me-down furniture feels a lot more like home. 

She updates him on anything he doesn't already know about her internship and life in the capital, and he denies that anything interesting has happened to him since she left. They move on to talking about their friends, starting with the most recent debacle with Britta and her parents ("I swear to god, she was out there at two AM with a paintbrush, drunk off her _ass_..."), and gradually slipping into reminiscences of times gone past and adventures they shared—sometimes the whole study group, sometimes just the two of them. 

Jeff pauses at last, and smiles at her in that odd, wistful way he seems to save just for her. Normally she lets it go, lets herself believe it means whatever she wants it to mean, because she knows if she asks him, at best she'll get some half-truth, something to keep her at arm's length. Never pushing her away, exactly; but never letting her get close, either. But tonight... tonight she wants to know what he's thinking. "What?" she asks.

He breathes out slightly, like he's surprised—but he answers readily enough. "It's just... can you believe it's been six years?" he says. She raises her eyebrows. "When I first knew you, you were this intense, neurotic Disney princess-slash-high school dropout. Look how far you've come." He waves his hand vaguely, but she has a feeling he doesn't mean the boxlike apartment that looks even tinier with a 6'4” giant in it. "It's amazing. _You're_ amazing."

She ducks her head, smiling. "And when I first knew you, you were a jerky ex-lawyer who wouldn't let anyone get close to him," she tells him.

He winces. "Ouch. And look how far I've come?"

Annie hesitates, and then takes the plunge. "Well, I don't know," she says, honestly. "Have you? Because it's been six years, Jeff, and you still haven’t made a move."

He goes very still, and the silence drags out between them. Then he blows out a long breath. "I wasn't sure you still wanted that," he says. 

She chuckles, at herself more than anything, because even though he's still being evasive, she can't bring herself to be anything less than honest. "I never stopped wanting you, Jeff," she says, putting all her cards on the table.

Jeff processes this for an agonizingly long time, long enough for her to wonder if she's made a mistake, if this is not what he'd wanted. He's cared for her, maybe even loved her, for years now, but he never pushed for more. What makes her think anything has changed, just because they had another in a long, long line of deniable, ambiguous, not-independently-verifiable moments before she left?

"I'm not sure I even know _how_ to make a move, any more," he finally admits, smiling ruefully, and her heart skips a beat. "Where would I start? It's not like you'd fall for any of my lines."

Annie swallows. "Well, then," she says, "how about this," and turns in the seat, rising up onto her knees. She moves slowly, giving him all the time in the world to back away, but his eyes widen, and then drop to her lips, going hazy with desire. She leans forward, supporting herself with a hand on his shoulder, and presses her lips to his in a gentle, close-mouthed kiss.

She only has a moment to wonder if he's going to respond, and then he's kissing her back, opening his mouth and running his hands through her hair so he can tilt her head and get closer. She moans, and he pulls her into his lap, kissing her frantically, like he can't possibly wait another moment. Eyes closed, she shifts around so her knees are on either side of his thighs and their bodies aligned, and then lets herself sink into him. 

Kissing him is the easiest thing she's ever done. It's like she's been spending all her time trying _not_ to kiss him, holding herself in check, and now she's finally, finally letting go.

Fifteen minutes later, she looks dazedly up from her position under him on the couch. He's breathing hard, blinking down at her like he's not sure if this is real. When she squirms against him, he lets out a slight moan, and she can feel how much he wants her. She gives herself a mental high five at the success of her plan, and tilts her head in the direction of the bedroom, raising her eyebrows questioningly at him. 

"Yeah?" he asks, hopeful but disbelieving.

"Yeah," she says, firmly.

He doesn't need any more convincing.

They stumble to her bedroom, trying hard not to trip over the furniture. Her clothes are easily removable, his are less so, and she can't understand why the hell he wore something with buttons, but at last he's nearly naked and so is she, and it's all going great…

…which is when her nerves finally decide to show up.

She's not sure if it's because she's worried that things are going too well and therefore something has to go wrong, or because this moment is so important to her that she needs to make sure it's perfect, or because she's used up all of her courage in order to finally reach this point—but suddenly it's as though someone hit the panic button. Adrenaline is rushing through her system, her palms are sweaty, and her brain has started running around in circles screaming _Jeff! Naked Jeff! In our bed! What are we supposed to do? We can't do this! We're going to mess it up somehow, and he's going to run away, and we'll never see him again!!!_

It's possible she's forgotten everything she ever knew about sex.

But after years of living with herself, she knows what to do: make a plan, and follow it. So she gets a grip and gives her brain some stern instructions: _Pull yourself together. Be sexy. Pick up your pompoms, fling off your bra, and make it look like you're enjoying yourself, because YOU WANT THIS. Fake it if you have to, this time, but so long as Jeff has a good time, he'll probably never know that you're freaking out. And then next time, the pressure will be off, and you can really have fun._

Five minutes later, Jeff sits up. "Annie, what's up? We can stop if you want."

"No!" she protests, scrambling up hurriedly. Jeff sits back on his heels, and Annie wraps her arms around her bare chest, feeling a little exposed. "Why would you—do _you_ want to stop?"

"No, absolutely not," he says, in a reassuringly certain voice. "But you seem distracted. If this is moving too fast for you, we don't have to do it right now—or even this week. I can wait."

Annie sighs in frustration. "Dammit. I want to do this, I swear. It's just—brain stuff, you know," she says, waving at her head. "I'm psyching myself out. But I want to keep going."

Jeff nods, and presses his lips together. "You're sure? Because if you're not ready, or you've changed your mind, that's okay."

" _Yes_ , Jeff. I'm one hundred percent sure I want to have sex with you right now."

"Okay." Then he wraps both hands under her knees and pulls, and a moment later she finds herself on her back with her legs akimbo and Jeff looming over her. "Then I'll consider this a challenge," he says, voice pitched low and seductive. 

A thrill goes through her—but she's compelled to make one last attempt to scupper her plans for the evening. "Jeff, you don't have to—"

"Annie."

She shuts up.

And, okay, so maybe the first time is still a little awkward, despite Jeff's best efforts—they keep losing their rhythm, because this is a little weird and they've been friends for so long that it's kind of hard to make the transition—but they both have a good time (twice, in her case), and she can definitely state for the record that she's had sex with Jeff Winger. 

Afterwards she's lying in his arms, his hand stroking lazily up and down her back, her body humming with satisfaction, and all she's thinking is, _yes_. And, you know, that the next time will be even better.

(It is.)


	4. The one where they let their hearts (code, it's code) make the decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note rating change. ;)

_She refuses to believe that this sad, broken version of Jeff is the final stage of his evolution. She and Abed have agreed that it's an interim phase. Jeff has been broken down to the bare essentials, and now they just need to build him back up, but better and stronger, able to actually deal with the heart he's finally admitted to owning. It's like joining the Marines, except with emotions._

_But still, a small, guilty part of her misses what Jeff used to be like when they first came to Greendale. She misses the playful, charming, wickedly witty man she first fell in love with—reluctantly, resisting every step of the way, because she had _plans_ , dammit, and a washed-up, cheating lawyer was not in them, no matter how secretly good-hearted he might be. She wonders what he'd be like with some of his old confidence back, and now that she knows for sure he's interested in her..._

\---

He's waiting for her in the study room.

She's not sure what made him run out on them at the bar, but everyone seemed to assume that she'd be the one to go after him, and honestly, she's glad; she didn't really want to have this conversation in public. She heads for the library, hoping her instincts are correct, and is relieved to find that, in this at least, they're still in sync. She locks the door behind her so they won't be disturbed.

The lights are low, the library is deserted, and he's standing with his back to the door, staring contemplatively at the table. He turns when she enters, but says nothing, watching her approach with an unreadable look on his face.

"Are you okay? You left... weirdly," she says, a little unnerved by the weight of his stare.

He doesn't reply right away. "So you're leaving?" he says, finally.

She nods. "When the FBI calls, you can't exactly say no—I mean, they have agents everywhere," she jokes weakly.

"But this is what you want?"

"Yes." She knows it might hurt him, but there's no hesitation in her voice. She still can't quite believe she's been offered this opportunity, after all the setbacks and complications and detours in her life. "More than anything."

He nods, as if he's come to some momentous decision. "Okay. Right. In that case..."

He takes one long step towards her, and before she can process what he's going to do, his hands are spanning her shoulders and he's pulling her up towards him, his head angling… and he's kissing her.

She responds—of course she responds. The years melt away, and she's eighteen again, discovering that the coolest guy in school isn't as indifferent to her as he wants everyone to think. Finding that she has power over him is almost as big of a rush as the sensation of his mouth against hers. She moans, swaying against him and he pulls her even closer.

Control has never really been an option, not when it comes to these feeling that arc between them, but maybe she ought to try for damage limitation. She breaks away, panting, and leans dizzily into the shelter of his shoulder. She's not quite ready to open her eyes, afraid of what might happen when reality breaks over them again. "Jeff, what is this?"

His voice by her ear makes her shiver. "No regrets," he says—and she doesn't know if he means it as an explanation or a question, but she nods anyway.

"No regrets," she agrees. She tips her head back to look at him, but her eye is caught by the study room table behind him. "Or maybe one," she amends, wistfully. "We've never..."

Jeff turns his head to follow her gaze, and his mouth quirks into a wicked grin. "Well, we can't have that," he says—and the next instant he's picking her up by the waist and turning quickly to drop her on the table.

"Jeff!" Yeah, that sounded less 'outraged' and more 'breathlessly needy'.

"Hey, you went there first," he says, hoisting her up further before clambering onto the table after her. He hovers over her, knees on either side of her hips, and leans down to balance on his forearms, so they're chest-to-chest, with his ass in the air. She's laughing when he kisses her again, and she wraps her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly in a burst of joy. "You want to?" he asks, hand already running up the outside of her leg.

"Oh god, yes," she moans, gripping his sweater with both fists and dismissing any thoughts about how they maybe ought to talk first. Because that's really only ever her answer, where he's concerned: yes.

The clothes she changed into for her interview—which already feels like a million years ago—have seemingly sprouted a thousand annoying little buttons, and the pants that looked so professional are now stifling. His sweater is wonderfully soft (there's definitely something to be said for his expensive tastes), and at any other time she'd happily spend hours running her hands over it, but right now his skin would feel infinitely better against her palms. At least his jeans are baggier than some of the ones he's worn in the past—although not because he's gotten any baggier underneath them. _Jesus_ , he's toned. It's a good thing he's cut down on the shirtlessness on campus since he became a teacher; the risk of someone injuring themselves by walking into a door or falling down the stairs would be far too great.

Her blazer and shirt quickly disappear, and his jeans are undone, so when he finally shakes free of his tangled sweater and T-shirt and presses her into the table, they are skin to warm, bare skin from neck to navel, aside from her bra. But she gives an airless little squeak, because the table is hard and he's _heavy_.

"I'm gonna crush you," he mutters, lifting up so she can breathe again. He wraps his arms around her and rolls, taking her with him so she ends up astride him. "This'll work better if—"

"I ride you?" she finishes, feeling smug when he goes cross-eyed. She rocks deliberately against him.

"Yeah," he says hoarsely, hands going to her hips. "God, yes."

He's hard enough already to make it feel good (great, _awesome_ , even) for her, too, so they get stuck there for a little while, unwilling to part for a second, even to remove more clothing. But eventually her reluctance to let him go is overwhelmed by her need to have him naked beneath her, and she rolls to the side and kicks her best interview pants onto the study room floor without a second thought. His jeans go flying over her head a moment later. 

When she turns, he's holding out a condom like it's a diamond ring. He doesn't even try to hide his earnest, ardent expression.

"You sure?" he asks.

She nods. "Yes. Definitely. Yes."

"Okay."

He tosses her the packet, and wriggles free of his underwear while she gets it open. When she straddles his knees and deftly slides the condom onto him, he whimpers, and she reflects for a moment how glad she is that they didn't do this years ago: she's _so much better at it_ than she was when she first thought about sex with Jeff. She shuffles closer, eager to get on with it, and hooks a finger into her bra strap.

"Nonono," says Jeff, straightening up in a hurry. He reaches out, but stops just short of the pale satin strap, hand hovering tentatively. He looks up, meeting her eyes. "May I?"

"Um. Sure." She drops her hand, and sits back on his thighs.

But instead of removing her bra, he just pauses for a long moment, staring at her chest—to the point where she wonders if he's lost his nerve.

"Jeff?"

"Shush," he says. "I'm having a religious moment."

She rolls her eyes, repressing a smile. "Okay then. Carry on."

Slowly, finally, he slides down the straps, first one, then the next. And it's not her most glamorous bra—it's not lacy or sheer, merely white with tiny pastel dots—but it doesn't matter. Certainly, Jeff doesn't seem bothered. He strokes a finger softly, reverently down the slope of her neck, and then along the line of the fabric, making her shiver. It's not exactly cozy in the study room, and the table is beginning to feel a little hard on her knees. Maybe they'll have to try this in an actual bedroom at some point…

She shelves that thought when Jeff reaches an arm around her and deftly unhooks the clasp without looking. "Smooth," she compliments him.

He smirks. "There are some advantages to age and experience."

"Oh? Tell me more," she says, with a grin.

He shrugs, looking surprisingly diffident—but then he was never pushy when it came to sex, despite his reputation, not even in the early days. It's one of the things she's always liked about him. "Well, you know…" He hooks one long finger where the underwires rest flat against her breastbone. "Stamina and endurance," he says, tugging it slowly down. "Knowledge."

"Patience," she suggests, letting him pull it off her arms.

He nods, one hand sliding around to rest on the curve of her hip. His fingers play restlessly with the top of her underwear. He finally manages to lift his eyes to meet hers. "Dedication," he says, softly. "Drive. Commitment."

"Focus." She raises up onto her knees and steadies herself with her hands on his shoulders. He slides down her underwear and helps her out of it, never breaking eye contact—although she's having difficulty not staring at his lips. "Skill."

"Appreciation," he says. She shuffles closer, hovering over him. His eyelids flutter when she reaches back to position him, and his mouth falls open slightly, but he manages to say, "Reverence," before he closes his eyes and wraps his arms around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She feels him press gentle kisses to her skin.

Annie lays her head against his shoulder, trembling slightly with the sudden wave of emotion that is threatening to overwhelm her. She dips down, sucking in a sharp breath when he enters her shallowly. She can feel his heart pounding strongly against her chest. "K-kindness," she says, not even sure what they're talking about any more.

As they slide together at last, he raises his lips to her ear and whispers: "Love."

"Oh. God. _Jeff._ "

She shudders, grabbing him tightly, and he pushes up hard into her, like he can't hold back any longer. "Annie," he grits raggedly. "I'm—this is—"

So much for endurance. She rocks against him, pressed in as close as she can possibly get. Jeff doesn't seem to want her to move far, either, because he's got his arms tightly around her torso, his hips making small, jerky movements. He's already as deep inside her as he can get, but it's almost as if it's not enough—like he can't bear to have any distance between them. His head is still tucked into her neck, and she can feel his hot breath against her collarbone. 

She tucks her toes, pushing herself further up against his chest, and the change of angle is almost too much. She whimpers, and this seems to trip something in Jeff, because suddenly he's grabbing the back of her head and turning her frantically so he can kiss her.

She's never been kissed so desperately by anyone—it's not just hungry, it's _ravenous_. She always knew there were deep emotions hidden behind Jeff's façade, but she never expected anything this unrestrained. The angle is awkward and the table is definitely hurting her knees now, but she doesn't care, she kisses him back just as passionately, making him groan and press his forearm down against her hips. It's a glorious chain reaction of feelings zipping back and forth between them, and she scarcely knows what she's saying as she mumbles into his mouth.

"Yes—I want—oh god—please, Jeff..."

"Annie..."

She's vaguely aware that they're both getting louder, but it doesn't bother her. He hits something inside of her, and she throws her head back and gasps, moving faster, all thought about the hardness of the table forgotten. Her eyes are tightly closed, and she's working purely on instinct now, in tune with Jeff to a degree they've never reached before. 

"Jeff—oh, oh, _oh_..."

She drops her head against his shoulder again, shaking as she comes—and he moves with her so that, just as she's coming down again, he's shuddering and panting. She holds him tightly, feeling pleasurable aftershocks as he mutters broken words into her neck.

Together, slowly, they relax—and gradually she becomes aware of their surroundings again. When she shifts uncomfortably, his arms release her instantly, like he thinks she's trying to escape. "Ow. God. Okay, we really should do this in a bed," she grumbles, slowly and painfully straightening out her legs. "Or at least on one of the couches."

Jeff puffs a laugh. "Yes. Yes, we should," he agrees. There's a note of wistfulness in his voice, and she looks up. He smiles tiredly, almost sadly, and strokes her hair back, tucking it over her shoulder. 

Annie shakes her head. "You know I'm not leaving right away, don’t you? I mean, if this was supposed to be a dramatic farewell gesture, I've still got another week, so it's gonna be kind of awkward."

"Yeah, if you thought I only wanted to do that once, you must be nuts," says Jeff—and then alarm flashes across his face. "Wait, is that what you—"

"No!" _This_ is why they should have talked first. "No, absolutely not! What I want is to spend every spare moment in bed with you before I leave, and sext with you all the time while I'm in D.C., and have you visit and not see a single monument, and when I get back I want to lock myself away with you for an entire month."

Okay, possibly that was too much, judging by Jeff's dazed expression.

"Obviously some of that isn't very practical," she adds. "And really, it can't be every night this week because I have a _ton_ of packing and organizing to do, and I need to see everyone before I leave—and then ten weeks of sexting is probably overkill, I mean, that's like seventy straight days, it'd be ridiculous. Besides, I'll probably have lots of other things I'll want to talk to you about—"

"No, no, this is good, I like this plan," says Jeff, looking lighter and more cheerful than she's seen in a very, very long time. "Tell me more."


	5. The one where it's eerily perfect

_It's an old fantasy, but one that she returns to sometimes. Of course, she's made a few modifications over the years..._

\---

Jeff, after discovering an unexpected genius for medicine (the class called simply 'ABS!' turns out to be Advanced Brain Surgery), graduates pre-med, and then goes on to become a doctor so fast that it makes headlines. Within a very short time, he's the top neurosurgeon at University of Colorado Hospital.

Annie, after abandoning her original hospital administration plan, is now a rising star in the FBI. Everyone is clamoring for her to join this or that taskforce, and she's able to choose her own base—which of course is Denver, to be with her husband (they married last year in an extravagant ceremony which somehow managed to both be romantic and show everyone who ever doubted her how amazing her life is now).

They both work hard, but she gets a surprising number of cases of serial killers eating their victims’ brains, necessitating a consultation with Jeff in one or other of their glamorous, top-floor offices.

Every morning, they wake before the alarm and make love. At the moment, they're working their way through the Kama Sutra, and are right in the middle of a position that is only possible through his upper-body strength and her lightness and flexibility, when the alarm goes off. With one arm holding her close, he leans over and turns it off.

"Oh Annie," he says, manfully and yet boyishly. "I love you so much."

He says it all the time, but it still sends a thrill through her.

"I love you too, Jeff," she gasps, sighs. He kisses her passionately, and starts to make love to her even harder than before. "Also I think I might be pregnant."

He doesn't drop her and leap back several feet across the room, twitch nervously, stammer some excuse, and then flee. No, he pulls her even closer.

"Annie," he says. "This is all I've ever wanted. You complete me. Now we'll truly be a family."

"Oh, Jeff!"

"Oh, Annie!"

Et cetera. She was never sure where to go from there, because that had already pretty much ticked off everything on the list of ambitions she'd come up with when she was fourteen. But now she knows: what matters isn't the list, but who's working on it with her.


	6. The one that really happened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that I've added chapters 5 and 6 today (because chapter 5 is only a little thing).

A couple of days after she gets back, Jeff asks her on a date. She's surprised: somehow, she'd never expected it to be this simple. So it takes a moment before she can get her feet under her, metaphorically speaking, and answer him. "Yes! Yes, of course, I'd love that. Yes." 

He gives her a bright, slightly nervous smile. "Okay. Good." And they stare at one another for a moment, absorbing the fact that they're taking this next step. _Actual dating_ , not just lots of hanging out interspersed with impromptu make-out sessions (of which there have been more than one since their discussion... and, you know, this little corner of the coffee shop is very secluded and dark, and the staff are occupied elsewhere, and probably no one would mind...).

The look in his eyes—like he's thinking about kissing her but isn't sure if he ought to—makes her mouth go dry, and she stammers her next words. "Wh-what should I wear? I mean, formal, casual, active... what did you have in mind?"

"Formal," he says. He smiles and looks down, self-deprecatingly. "I want to do this right," he confesses, and her heart melts. 

(It turns out that she's right about the coffee shop.)

For their date, he takes her to a fancy restaurant—rows of silverware, gleaming wineglasses, heavy white napkins, murmuring waiters. He opens the car door for her, and compliments her dress, and they're just little things, but it's like he's finally seeing her as an adult woman who should be romanced properly, not like a child who needs to be kept pure and innocent, or a friend he can take for granted. It's like he can imagine a future with her, and he's taking the first tentative steps towards that goal.

It's new for them, but it's not new-new; this is traditional date material, after all. She's even been romanced similarly before. (She's mostly kept her love life secret from the study group, over the years. Their interest is suffocating at best, and disastrous when they try to get involved. Troy and Abed know the most, and she's come to trust them—they've been there for her a lot more than the others probably realize.) And yet somehow it's completely different and new and terrifying, because this is _Jeff_ , and although she's trying not to overload it with expectations, this is so much more than just a first date. It's probably good that he's sticking to the classics: dinner, flowers, wine.

And Jeff is really good at this seduction stuff. It's not exactly a surprise—she's seen him in action before—but this is the first time it's been directed at her, and _holy crap_ , she can see why his success rate is so high. He looks amazing in his sharp, navy suit and blue shirt. He's shaved his beard back to stubble again, because that was what she'd said she preferred when he asked. It's like one of her fantasies come to life, and it's kind of overwhelming. She keeps forgetting that she's twenty-four, a college graduate with a stint as a well-paid pharmaceutical rep and an FBI internship under her belt, and is back to being nineteen with a crush. One thing she has learned is not to let that show, so she's pretty sure he doesn't see it... but maybe that's a habit she needs to break. It's hard to let herself go, after years of holding back around him. It'll come in time, she tells herself.

She gets the feeling that he's struggling with old habits, too. Every now and then, when they've got a nice, flirty, conversational rhythm going, he pulls up short, stutters, and changes the subject—like he'd been about to feed her a line, and abruptly changed his mind. She's intrigued and frustrated, but grateful all the same, because if this is just a tiny taste of the Jeff Winger Experience, she's not sure how long she could hold out against the full thing. And she's trying not to get too giddy, too soon.

So it's scary, awkward, exciting, and overwhelming—but mostly in a good way. They linger over dessert, reluctant to leave, but finally Jeff is walking her to her door and giving her a kiss goodnight that starts out respectable but quickly descends into ten minutes of making out against the wall of her hallway and oh god will someone please remind her why they decided to take this slowly?

She's dizzy with desire, swaying towards him as he finally steps back, tie askew. "Goodnight, Annie," he says, the husky sound of his voice sending a thrill through her. At least he looks as dazed as she feels.

She's very tempted to leap at him and drag him back to her bedroom, but she manages to hold herself back. "Goodnight, Jeff," she says. He waits for her to go inside, and she slides the door shut, keeping her eyes on him the whole time. After a deep breath, she pushes away from the door, and turns to greet her roommates.

"Date go well?" asks Britta.

"Mm-hm," says Annie, absently, as she shambles towards her room.

"Did she hit her head?" asks Troy, who is residing temporarily with them while he figures out what to do next.

"Nah," says Britta. "Jeff did good." She sounds surprised, and Annie would stop to remonstrate with her, but right now she needs to go somewhere quiet to focus on thinking about Jeff's hands, and Jeff's lips, and Jeff's arms, and Jeff's eyes…

Three hours later, she gives up entirely on the possibility of sleep. She may never sleep again, in fact—not while she's stuck in this state of nervous anticipation. 

There's only one cure.

By the time she knocks on Jeff's door, twenty minutes later, she still hasn't worked out what she wants to say. He opens it, and blinks at her. He's in a T-shirt and boxers now, and his hair is mussed and sticking up adorably on one side, but he doesn't look any sleepier than she feels. Her heart is in her throat. It's crazy—she saw him less than four hours ago, but it feels like an eternity, like she's parched for his presence.

"Annie?"

She breathes in deeply, and lets it go—and, just like that, she's done. "You know what? I am really, _really_ sick of waiting." 

His eyes light up, brighter than she's ever seen before. He steps back, holding the door open. "Wanna come in?"

"Yes, please," she says, gratefully.

No more words are necessary.

\---

Annie likes hands. It's often the first thing she notices, along with eyes and a nice ass. And she's often noticed that Jeff's hands are pretty nice. They're large, proportionate with the rest of him. The skin of his palms is smooth—he's probably never done a day of manual labor in his life—but firm, with an even, honed strength that comes from gripping weights. They don't have the careless elegance or asceticism of a musician or a painter, but they have purpose and confidence nevertheless. They are, she thinks, the hands of a performer: someone who uses and controls every aspect of himself to create an impression. They're good hands, strong and warm, but they'd never made her list of his top five best features (in the back of her diary, that first year: eyes, abs, jaw, shoulders, ass).

But now they're curled together, naked, her body humming with satisfaction, and that list is under revision—and, surprisingly, the hands that she's noticed fondly for years are rising rapidly up the charts. Not because she now knows what they can do to her. (Although it helps, _oh boy_ does it help. She's never going to be able to sit near him in a committee meeting again... oh god, it's going to be written all over her face, isn't it?) No, what makes her heart beat erratically and sends a warm feeling twisting through her insides is the way his hand is carefully curled around hers, with his forefinger tucked between her fingers and his thumb stroking her knuckles. It's a simple, gentle touch that anyone who's been on the receiving end of his biting wit in a courtroom would never expect. 

But that's Jeff: he may try to give the impression that he's big and bad and invulnerable, but in truth, he's got a heart the size of the Rockies and a protective streak as wide as the Great Plains. It's criminal that he ever felt the need to hide that side of himself. 

That care was evident in every touch, tonight. He was careful not to crush her, so considerate of how she felt and what she wanted. Maybe she's fooling herself (or—given the feelings he finally, _finally_ confessed—maybe not), but she thinks he's always treated her a tad more gently than anyone else. She knows that some of it is down to his nervousness about this new development between them, and she wants to work on that, to make him a little more confident in the strength of their relationship—but in the meanwhile, she's never felt so cherished. It's kind of amazing.

It's helping to strengthen her confidence in this relationship, too. She may have been acting strong for Jeff recently, when he was seriously floundering, but deep down she has quite a few insecurities of her own that are going to come out at some point. She hasn't always been confident that they'd eventually come together (no pun intended), or that it would be a good idea if they did, or even that she wants it to happen. She hasn't had faith all along that someday they'd end up with their happily-ever-after. In truth, for a long time she's been telling herself that it was a good thing he refused to date her, because it saved them both a lot of heartache when it inevitably went wrong. 

Perhaps that's really why they never got together—because the only thing that either of them were certain about was that starting this and then losing it would be unthinkably painful.

So, no, she's not always as confident as she pretends. But lying here, tangled up with him, she can imagine that perfect happily-ever-after, can see it more clearly than ever before. And if she can visualize it, if she has something to aim for, she can figure out what they need to do to get there. 

The first step is to get Jeff back into something resembling an emotionally-healthy state, because he clearly can't go on like this. He doesn't know it yet, but he's about to start cutting down on the drinking. He's also going to work out what the hell he wants to do with his life, and stop this aimless drifting that's only making him feel worse about himself. If he really, genuinely hates working at Greendale as much as he says he does (and he's prone to hyperbole, particularly when it comes to their school), then he needs to get out of there; and if not, he needs to buck up and start doing a better job at his job. Either way, he needs to stop thinking of it as the end stop of his life. He's forty-one, for god's sake, not eighty-one—and even then, well, look at Pierce, or Leonard and his YouTube channel. And after that...

"So have you come up with a plan?"

She blinks at the sound of his voice, and turns her head to meet his eyes. He looks relaxed, amused... She's known how to identify Jeff's post-coital face since first year—Abed made a chart when he was dating Slater, so they could avoid him, because he's always disgustingly smug—but this time _she_ put that look there, and she can't help feeling a little thrill of triumph.

"What?"

"I know that look," he says, stroking her hair back from her face with the hand not currently (still!) wrapped around hers. "I've learned to fear that look. You're plotting."

She smirks, liking the notion that he's a little afraid of her. "Nothing concrete yet," she admits. "But I'm working on it."

"Okay, well, you just let me know what I'm supposed to do."

"Oh, I will."

He grins, and lets it go. He really is astonishingly relaxed right now. Maybe, she thinks optimistically, all Jeff needs to get better is for her to keep having lots and lots of sex with him. She could definitely get on board with that plan.

Therapy is a more realistic option, though—and with that, a career revamp, and an exciting new love life, Jeff's anxieties aren't going to know what hit them.

She wraps her arm around him, shuffling down a little so she can get comfortable. "I'm so glad you finally saw reason," she says sleepily.

Jeff huffs, part indignation, part amusement. "Gave in and let you call the shots, you mean."

She shrugs, too content to argue with him right now. "Yeah." She sighs happily when he pulls her in close.

"Me too," he admits, nuzzling his face into her hair. "Your ideas are much better than mine. I'm a convert. It's the glass-half-full life for me, from now on."

"Mmm." She's not sure she entirely believes him, but it's nice that he's willing to try. "Hey, you remember all those season seven pitches?"

"Oh yeah, how could I forget Ice Cube Head?"

"What? I must've missed that one."

"You really didn't miss anything," he assures her. "That was what Chang came up with in the bar."

"Ah. Well, anyway, in the study room, when Frankie said we should all come up with our own vision of what we wanted to happen..." She strokes her fingers across his back. "You were a big part of mine," she confides. She can feel herself blushing, but she's wanted to tell him this for the longest time. She's pretty sure it'll help if he knows that she really does want him in her life, and that this isn't just a spontaneous decision. And it would help her to know, too—to be assured that this is something he's been dreaming about, just as much as she has. "What was yours? I promise I won't laugh if it's really sappy."

Jeff, though, turns his head into the pillow and groans, which is not the reaction she was expecting. "Annie," he whines.

"What?" She gasps. "Oh! It wasn't about me?" She shifts back so she can glare at him, but he keeps his face buried in the pillow. "Jeff! What was your season seven pitch?"

He mumbles something into the pillow that sounds an awful lot like 'sexy redheads'.

"Jeff!" She slaps his chest. "Redheads? _Seriously_? You're such a pig!"

He turns to face her at last, his face pink, and catches her hand as she goes to smack him again. She tries to pull her wrist away, but his grip is strong. "Okay, okay, before you murder me, can I say in my own defense that those were supposed to remain private?"

"Ugh!" She succeeds in extracting herself, but hesitates, not sure if she wants to hit him some more, or turn away and sulk. 

Jeff takes advantage of the pause. "And in every other pitch I gave, if you remember, you were back at Greendale to stay, and everyone was happy—"

"But we weren't together in those ones," she objects.

"All our friends were there," he counters. "Did you really want to have that discussion in front of Britta and Abed? Frankie? The dean? _Chang_?"

She pouts—because, no, she's glad he didn't say that in front of everyone, but still... "It would've been nice if you'd even once thought about us being together," she grumbles. 

"I did, I swear. I thought about it before then, and after then... It's almost all I could think about while you were away—"

"Oh, what, you didn't think about your _redheads_ , then?"

"I said 'almost'," he protests. "I'm only human, and I just... I didn't _want_ to think about anything with you, partly because I didn't know what you wanted and it felt kinda creepy to be doing that, and partly because—well, because it made me feel like crap, okay? Because when I tried to picture a future with you, all I could see was the thousands of ways it could go wrong."

There's enough genuine anguish in his voice that she feels herself relenting. "Jeff..."

"But I'm trying to change that. Glass half full, remember? I don't want to think like that any more."

She remembers what he'd said about a scenario where she divorced him and took the kid—and, okay, maybe he's telling the truth, maybe it really is painful for him to think about what the future might hold for them both. She feels her heart clench in sympathy, because it sounds like he's been putting himself through hell, and all for no reason. "I tell you what," she says slowly. "You tell me one of your going-wrong scenarios, and I'll tell you why it's crap. And then, if we ever get to that point, we'll know what to look out for. How does that sound?"

"I can think of fantasies I'd rather share..."

" _Jeff_." 

Then she pauses, and looks at him properly, seeing the vulnerability he's trying so hard to hide. This is difficult for him—she knows what he's like, and how hard it is for him to talk about his feelings. But this is the man she loves, the man she's chosen. If she wants the good—and there is so, _so_ much she's looking forward to doing with him—she needs to be able to handle the bad.

"Counter-offer," she says. "You tell me one of yours, no judgement, and I tell you one of my fantasies about how we'd get together." His eyes widen, and she runs a finger along his collarbone. "I could tell you my D.C. fantasy?" she says, suggestively. "Or what I really wanted you to do to me in the study room?"

His mouth falls open slightly. "Deal," he says quickly, as if he's trying to get it out before either of them changes their mind.

And slowly, haltingly, and with a great deal of obfuscation and distraction, he finally begins to unpack and show her some of the contents of his heart.


End file.
